


The Exorcist and The Mango Thief

by lexadaisical



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Lesbians Failing to Flirt, Pre-Femslash, Silkpunk, Snark To Snark Combat, The Pen Really is Mightier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:28:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28809621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lexadaisical/pseuds/lexadaisical
Summary: All Thiriya wanted was a taste of those mangoes. Unfortunately, what she gets is a ghost, a paet, and a mysterious exorcist with a loud voice and even louder clothes.
Relationships: OFC/OFC
Kudos: 4





	The Exorcist and The Mango Thief

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story for the Silk and Steel anthology (which PSST YOU SHOULD GET IF YOU LIKE SWORD LESBIANS) but was unfortunately rejected. I pondered for a long time about what to do with it, and in the end decided to let it go into the wild. I'm currently working on expanding it because I do love this story and I think there are many more things I want to add. 
> 
> The story is set in a pseudo historical Burma/Myanmar land, and incorporates many things I love about its lores and mythologies. I have opted not to italicise Burmese words or provide a glossary because, well, why should I? Google exists and so does context.

It was the fault of the mangoes, hanging there ripe and golden. The tree trunk was hidden behind a tall brick wall, but most of its branches and the accompanying fruits extended well beyond the landmark. So it seemed like a good idea to scale the wall and take one or two for a taste. 

Which was how Thiriya ended up on her back, on the wrong side of the wall and staring up at what she hoped was a bizarre hallucination the pain had conjured. 

The mirage had all the appearance of a person, with a face and arms and all of that, but wore clothes so garishly bright, they couldn’t have been real. There was a crimson red longyi, wrapped and tucked to form a makeshift pair of trousers. Their shirt, white, was tied at the waist to reveal an annoyingly toned set of stomach muscles. Completing the ensemble was a deep blue knee-length robe. Adorning their waist and wrists were charms and loops of coins that jingled as they stepped forward and extended a hand. 

Behind their right shoulder, Thiriya could make out the lacquered hilt of a sword strapped to their chest with a red cord. 

“It’s not often beautiful maidens fall out of the sky. You must surely be a nat princess.” 

It was...incredibly tacky, too tacky to have been conjured by her mind. So Thiriya could only conclude this was, in fact, an actual person. One who was colour blind, perhaps. 

Thiriya ignored the outstretched hand, and picked herself off the ground. A few grazes on her hands, and her back would not thank her tomorrow, but there appeared to be no other injuries. 

After a swift glance at the wall--which was annoyingly smooth on this side whilst also being far too tall for her to pull herself up--Thiriya sighed and turned to look at the stranger. “I suppose you’ll be calling for guards now,” she said, trying not to show any fear. She had decided long ago that her emotions were hers, and no one was entitled to them. 

The stranger watched her, smiling. It was the smile of someone watching a child or a bear try to perform the dance of the candles. Equal parts wonder and amusement. 

“I could if you’d like,” said the stranger. “But I’m more curious to know what you were doing up there in the first place.” 

The stranger spoke with an accent Thiriya couldn’t place and used the female particle to refer to herself even though her clothes were a mix of genders. The shirt had a feminine cut though none of the usual elaborations, and the longyi was in a htamein pattern but worn like a pasoe. Tattoos peeked out from underneath the longyi down to her knees and hoop earrings adorned her ear. 

“I was trying to reach the mangoes,” Thiriya replied, and inclined her head in the direction of the mango tree, dwarfed by the banyan tree and its branches heavy with golden fruits. 

The stranger looked up at the fruits, then down to Thiriya. “I don’t deny they look inviting, but they can’t be worth all that trouble. You could buy two for ten kyats in the markets. And, as a bonus, not break a bone for it.” 

Thiriya shrugged. “I don’t have ten kyats to waste on fruits. Anyway. You look like you either own this place or are a guest. Don’t keep me in suspense about the guards.”

It might be a night or two in the cells, or longer if she couldn’t convince them this was all an accident. Hopefully it wouldn’t be any more than that. If it was, well, she might be able to throw herself at the mercy of the nearby monastery and work off her sins there.

“Ah well, as it happens--”

“Ma Saleh, there you are!” The speaker was a tall, bearded man, so thin as to be almost considered emaciated, and dressed in rich greens and dark blue. He wore a white gaung baung with a crisp white tail that flapped, flapped, flapped as he marched towards them. 

The stranger’s body language morphed under Thiriya’s gaze and suddenly, it was as if Thiriya were looking at an entirely different person. Saleh, according to the man, now smiled obsequiously, half-bent at the waist as if ready to prostrate at a moment’s notice. Her shoulders bowed inwards, and her hands clasped each other in front of her chest. 

This man, then, was the master of the house and Saleh a guest. Or maybe an employee, given she had been made to wait out in the garden instead of inside with tea and laphet thote. 

Thiriya looked at Saleh, pleading with her eyes as sweat began to prickle at her forehead. Saleh returned Thiriya’s gaze for a long moment, then she turned to face the man. Her face hadn’t betrayed any kind of acknowledgement, and Thiriya had an awful feeling another brush with the law was in her future. 

Quickly adopting a pose as deferential as that of Saleh’s, Thiriya stood facing the man, face directed at the ground. 

“I trust my man has given you the details of the job?” the man said. Then, in a different voice added, “Who is this? I was told you came alone.” 

Thiriya was no stranger to bad luck and braced herself for more of it. She would be accused of stealing, even though the mango tree was outside of the wall, the branches reached well inside. Rich people, Thiriya knew, did not take kindly to anyone even looking at something that was considered theirs. 

“Ah, this is my assistant. She was fetching something I had forgotten at the inn. Introduce yourself to our benefactor, girl. This is merchant U Win Thu.” 

Thiriya’s head snapped up at the first sentence, and by the third, she was openly gaping at Saleh. 

The silence stretched. 

“Is she...of sound mind?” 

That shook Thiriya out of her stupor. “My name is Thiriya, shin. I am fortunate enough to be Ma Saleh’s humble servant.” And she gave him her most elegant bow.

Her effort was wasted. U Win Thu seemed to erase her from his mind even before she was half way through the motion, and all of his focus returned to Saleh. 

“You don’t look like the other exorcists,” U Win Thu said as he looked Saleh from head to toe. “Where are your talismans?” 

“Ah, I only carry one or two on my person. I prefer to draw what I need. This way, I can travel unburdened.” Saleh ducked her head as she spoke, almost a bow. 

U Win Thu frowned. “Then I hope you’ve brought your own writing instruments.” His tone implied that if she hadn’t, he would be more than glad to throw her out.

“Of course. That was what I had Thiriya fetch. I take my trade seriously. As you’ve made clear, you are only paying me for a successful exorcism. Nothing more and nothing less.” 

“Hmph. You’re the fifth one I’ve hired. How did my man find you again?” 

“I happened to be at the tea shop when he discussed the issue with your previous hire. I told him to come find me if they didn’t work out.” 

“You’re not a local then. Where are you from?” Suspicion was clear in U Win Thu’s voice. The allied city-states and the Yagaen kingdom were in a perpetual cycle of tense peace and outright war. So towns near the border, like this one, were wary of any stranger. 

Saleh’s smile made the corner of her eyes scrunch. “I hail from the south. Have no fear, shin, I’m just a simple exorcist walking the land to help those in need.” 

In Thiriya’s experience, anyone who had to specify that they were a simple anything tended to be the complete opposite. She wondered what Saleh was hiding. It could have been anything as benign as greed, to something as dangerous as murder. 

U Win Thu seemed to feel the same way, as the suspicious expression remained. But he must truly have been desperate because he only said, “I’ll take you to the room.” 

* * *

‘The room’ turned out to be a guest suite, complete with antechamber, attached bathroom and a small sleeping quarter for a servant. It was also detached from the main house with a covered walkway between. 

U Win Thu must have been a very successful merchant because he had two of these detached suites, and his house was two-storeyed. Unusual this far out from the capital, where there were few weikzas to inscribe extra strength into the wood and bricks. Thiriya had brushed a hand against one of the house’s external poles as they made their way, and confirmed for herself it was proper teak. Teak was one of the primary exports of the allied city-states. Perhaps U Win Thu had more than one reason to be wary of strangers. 

Thiriya shrugged it off. Such things were no longer any of her concern. 

U Win Thu said little as he led them to the guest suite and Saleh said even less. More than anything, Thiriya wanted to be away. From this compound. From Saleh. And from the net of lies she had found herself trapped in. 

Thiriya had no idea what Saleh’s angle was, but she doubted any of that was done out of the goodness of Saleh’s heart. Everyone had a price. 

Somewhere in the back of Thiriya’s head was her mother’s voice, berating her for her string of poor planning. It had started with her departure from home before the sun was even a hint on the horizon. Within the week, she had been fleeced out of her pouch of money, leaving her at the mercy of a nearby monastery, where she had worked her hands raw to recoup the loss. 

She thought she had learned her lesson since, but today’s misadventure proved her wrong. 

The guest suite doors were chained shut with an iron padlock as big as Thiriya’s fist, and U Win Thu was reluctant to open it. After a moment’s staring contest with the lock, he withdrew the key from the inner pocket of his robe and handed it to Saleh. 

“I will see you in the morning,” U Win Thu practically ordered, before turning on his heels and marching away with a military stiffness in his gait. 

Saleh and Thiriya stood in stifling silence, waiting as U Win Thu turned the corner and then a moment longer. 

It was Thiriya who broke the silence. “You’re an exorcist.” It was less of a statement and more of a judgemental question. U Win Thu had it right when he had said Saleh looked nothing like an exorcist. 

Most of the exorcists Thiriya had seen before wore white and saffron; the traditional colours for those who dealt with the dead. That said, there was technically no canon or law to say they couldn’t wear any other colours. Even the ones that wore other colours tended to choose more muted ones. Not the kaleidoscope before Thiriya. And they tended to be less...less everything. At least until the ceremony began. 

“Of a kind,” Saleh said cheerfully. She inserted the key into the padlock and wriggled it around until a faint ‘clunk’ was heard. 

“That is hardly a reassuring answer. Are you the ‘kind’ of exorcist in the same way a charlatan is a ‘kind’ of healer?”

Saleh unthreaded the chain at a leisurely pace then opened the doors and walked through. Thiriya followed, because there didn’t seem to be anything else she could do. It was only when they were both inside that Saleh then turned around with a smile. “Is this how you normally show thanks to someone who saved you from the cells? Questions and insinuations?” 

Thiriya flushed at the reminder of how she had ended up in this situation. “My apologies,” she said stiffly. “You never asked me anything and my questions are poor repayment. It is none of my business.” 

“You speak so formally. Academy-trained?” 

The afternoon sun struck one of the closed windows in such a way that lattices cast a slash of shadow across Saleh’s eyes, making her expression hard to read. Her voice was full of curiosity, however, sharp and pointed and dangerous. 

Thiriya cleared her throat and said, “Since I’m apparently an exorcist’s assistant for the foreseeable future, what do you want me to do?” 

Saleh tilted her head and brought her face into full sunlight. She was smiling; she never seemed to stop. “You can help me clear a space on the floor for the diagrams.” 

They set up in the main bedroom, where they had to move a medium sized bed over to make space. As they cleared away the rest of the furniture, Saleh laid out the barebones information. She was here to exorcise a guest who had died in this very room. Every night when the night watchman struck the bell for half moon, the ghost would appear. It would rant and rave until the cocks crowed, then disappear to repeat the cycle the next night. 

“He wants me to be discreet as merchants are a superstitious lot, and he can’t sell his wares if everyone thinks he’s cursed.” Saleh rolled her eyes as she clapped the dust of her hands. She reached over her shoulder and pulled the sheathed sword off in a swift, practiced motion. 

Thiriya, who had her mouth opened to ask a question, breathed in sharply and stepped back before she was even aware of what she had done. Saleh froze with her sword in hand, eyeing Thiriya warily. 

“I--sorry. Weapons make me nervous.” Thiriya cleared her throat and stiffened her spine so as not to inch back any further. Her mother had tried so hard to teach her martial arts but after an incident that ended with a knife embedded in her hand, she was wary of sharp things. 

“Ah,” said Saleh, and looked down at the sword. “Here.” And she extended the sword to Thiriya, hilt first and edge upwards. 

It took Thiriya a moment to recognise the gesture. It was a greeting of sorts between two warriors, a leftover treaty tradition from centuries ago. Carefully, she reached out and wrapped her hand around the hilt. Then she gave it a sharp pull so it slid out a handspan, then she inclined her head at Saleh and let go. It was a gesture of peace, giving your adversary the opportunity to use your own weapon against you. 

Saleh resheathed it, saying cheerfully, “Good thing you have no ill intentions towards me, otherwise you might have been struck dead the moment you touched it. Magical sword.” 

“Wha--”

“Ha! I’m only joking. The face you made!” And with that, Saleh laid the sword down on the bed. 

Still, Thiriya eyed the sword with wariness. It looked ordinary enough; lacquered sheath and lacquered hilt, the latter of which was decorated with scrollwork in gold paint that was well and truly tarnished. Here and there, the hilt was dotted with dusty coloured stones. Saleh’s tasteless joke reminded her too much of those childhood tales of extraordinary weapons and tools hidden in plain sight as cheap rubbish. 

“So it’s just an ordinary sword?” she asked. 

“Probably, although the peddler who sold it to me said it could dispel ghosts.” 

Shuddering, Thiriya moved further away from the sword. 

Saleh refused her help for the next portion, which was to chalk the magic diagrams on the floor. Other exorcists Thiriya had seen working drew them from memory. Saleh had to consult a tattered scroll, lending further credence to the theory that she was anything but an exorcist. Or a very poorly trained one. Perhaps she had never finished her apprenticeship. 

The layering of the diagrams took Saleh until well after sunset. A scavenge around the room revealed a handful of candles, each wrapped in paper with seals drawn on them. When Thiriya touched a lit match to one, the resulting light was far brighter than expected. 

There was a knock on the door half a mark after Saleh had finished; it was a young servant girl with a tray of food. It was probably the leftover from the master of the house’s meal, but there was more than enough for the two of them. It was the first meal Thiriya had in days that was properly cooked and properly salted, and she fell on it like a ravenous wolf. She had to remind herself not to eat her portion in one go lest she become sick. 

Thiriya pushed away the rest of her meal and looked up to find Saleh staring at her. “What?”

“Just thinking that much like your speech, you eat very formally. Neatly. If a bit too quickly. Might choke if you’re not too careful.” 

Thiriya washed her hands in the bowl of water provided, and avoided Saleh’s eyes as she said. “I think it best if we avoid questioning each other.” 

“It wasn’t really a question. More an observation.” 

Thiriya gave Saleh a  _ look _ , and the other woman laughed. Much like her clothing, Saleh’s laugh was loud, filling the room and tumbling out between the window lattices. “All right, maybe there was a question buried there. But it will be a little while yet before half moon, so what else are we going to do to pass the time?” 

For a brief moment, Thiriya wondered if Saleh was flirting with her. Her tone had an odd lilt to it at the end. Then she dismissed the thought because only an idiot would be flirting whilst waiting for a ghost to appear. 

“We can play sittuyin,” Thiriya suggested dryly.

Saleh tilted her head. “We’ve neither board nor pieces, and I was never very good at it anyway. Instead, how about we play reverse confessions. I’ll tell you all the things I’ve surmised about you, and vice versa.” 

That sounded like an awful idea. Thiriya was just about to say so when Saleh added, “It’s all right. If you haven’t uncovered anything about me, I can tell you anything you want to know.” 

It sounded innocuous enough, but Saleh’s smile had just a hint of mockery. Maybe even a challenge.

For the first time since she had met this aggravating individual, Thiriya smiled. Saleh blinked, seemingly taken aback. Thiriya’s smile had many times been described as predatory, and she wondered if Saleh would agree. 

Thiriya slowed her breathing, the way she had been taught, and studied Saleh like she would a battle map. Saleh had an aesthetically pleasing face, narrow with sharp cheekbones and plump lips. Her eyes had the barest upward slant, and were light brown. Her skin was dark. Her bearing proud. 

“You’re from the south--”

“That’s hardly fair, I told U Win Thu--”

“I’m not finished. You’re from south beyond the Traitor’s Sea. But you must have migrated young, because you have only a light accent. You were a soldier at some point--the tattoo on your forearm, that looks to me like an infantry company seal, though I’m not sure which one. You are ambidextrous, though you prefer using your left hand. You are no exorcist, but you do have some training in the arts I think, so either you failed your apprenticeship or you picked up the tricks from someone later in life. I’m inclined to think the latter.” Thiriya’s smile widened. “How am I doing so far?”

Saleh blinked slowly, lips parted and a flush darkening her cheeks. Then, laughter burst forth from her, so suddenly and forcefully Thiriya instinctively braced herself with hands on the floor. 

“Very good. I was born left handed but there are some that say it’s a sign of a wicked soul. And I didn’t migrate here, though my parents are from beyond the sea, as you surmised. I have the accent because I was taught the home language first and didn’t learn any other until school.” 

Thiriya tucked away the little tidbits of information for later incorporation into the mental tapestry she was weaving of Saleh. 

“And now, your turn.” Saleh’s expression was far too pleased. 

Ah, Thiriya had forgotten about that part. 

Saleh’s voice was low as she started. “Let me see. You play a musical instrument, the harp, probably. There are calluses on your fingers in very particular places. You used to have longer hair. You pull your hair when you are nervous, and your hand drifts to your waist first. I don’t think you were academy trained, I think you had your own tutors, which means you come from money. Not just money, prestige.”

Thiriya’s hand stopped halfway to where it was about to tug on her hair. She placed her hand back in her lap, twisting the fabric of her htamein between her fingers. This was why she didn’t talk to people, didn’t involve herself with anyone else. She was a thousand kawtha from home and it still wasn’t far enough. It was truly paranoid to think some ex-soldier would have heard of her but her mother had a long reach. 

So it was with sweet relief that she heard the bell toll for half moon. 

“Well, that was fun! We’ll continue this later.” Saleh stood, sheathed sword in one hand. She went to stand near the magic diagrams, while Thiriya decided that staying far away from the diagrams and Saleh suited her better. Her palms were still sweaty with nerves from Saleh’s dissection.

They waited. And waited. And waited. And waited some more. Just when Thiriya was about to give up...

In the stories, the arrival of a ghost would be heralded by a clash of thunder or a violent susurration of foliage or the piercing cry of an owl.

In reality, the ghost simply...appeared. One moment, there were only the two of them, then there was a third figure at the foot of the bed.

Thiriya had seen ghosts before—had even encountered a ghoul once—but never with the intention to exorcise one. Never so close. Her skin prickled with an awareness of the walls that seemed far too close; the scratch of bamboo floor cover under her hands; Saleh mere handspans away, who radiated tension and nerves; and the ghost that stepped into the light, opened its mouth and…

“Your trade manifestos! Present them.”

When no answers came, the ghost looked up from a tablet in its hand, and scowled at Saleh. “Trade. Manifestos,” it demanded in a nasally voice. “You do have them, don’t you? Otherwise there’s no point to this at all.” 

Saleh threw a bewildered look at Thiriya. “What in Thagyamin’s fiery cock is this?” 

A colourful sentiment, but an accurate one, too.

The ghost walked to and fro, muttering as it consulted the tablet. It alternated between berating Saleh for not bringing the papers, and beseeching the Inner Nats why they plagued it so.

Thiriya was no exorcist, but even she could feel the energy emanating off the ghost in the form of a chill wind. As it passed by the lone candle, that stub of a flame would flicker, casting eerie dancing shadows onto the walls. The ghost’s voice rose, and with it so did the wind. It had been a balmy, though still humid, evening only moments ago but now, Thiriya felt the flesh of her arms pimple with cold.

It took Thiriya a moment to notice a tag of some form, dangling from the ghost’s waist. It was a rectangle piece, palm size, and there appeared to be an emblem of some kind etched into the top, followed by a string of writing. The ghost walked back and forth, and the tag swung with it. When it passed near the candle on one of the ghost’s turns, the emblem and writing...glowed.

No, Thiriya thought, it was more like the tag had a heft—a solidity to it that everything else about the ghost lacked. It only seemed to glow in comparison because everything else about the ghost was washed out. 

There was something familiar about the tag, though Thiriya felt sure she had never seen it before. It was hard to concentrate with the ghost going on as it did but it finally struck her. The layout of emblem and writing, and the way the tag hung on the ghost’s waist. That was what was so familiar.

They were part of the raiment of a government official. She had seen similar identifying tags around the waist of taxation officers, record keepers, census counters, and others in the administrative branches of the government.

Saleh tsk’d, catching Thiriya’s attention. She was scowling down at the magic diagrams. They flicked when the ghost passed over them, but did little else. 

“It was worth a try,” Saleh muttered, barely audible over the ghost’s ranting. 

Saleh’s shoulders came up in a little philosophical shrug and she drew her sword. 

“Wait!”

Saleh tossed a glance over her shoulder. 

Thiriya spoke fast. “Did the merchant provide the identity of the ghost?”

“What does it matter?” Saleh asked, then groaned when Thiriya widened her eyes and flapped her hands in a motion to hurry up. “Ugh. A tax auditor of some kind.” 

That was exactly what Thiriya wanted to hear. “I know how to get rid of the ghost,” said Thiriya, not quite able to believe what was coming out of her mouth. 

“Of the two of us, who’s the exorcist?” 

“Neither one, if we’re being truthful, but this isn’t--” Thiriya grabbed a sheet of paper on the writing desk, and the brush and ink beside it. “--really an exorcism. It’s--it’s...connecting our reality to theirs.” 

“Or I could just--” Saleh waved her sword in the direction of the ghost. 

“You said you weren’t even sure if it would work. Bought it off a peddler, remember?” 

“Complete lie. It really is a magic sword. Blessed by a monk and everything. Dispels ghosts and zaps people with evil intentions towards the beholder.”

There was a lot to consider in those four sentences. Unfortunately, Thiriya had neither the time nor the energy to spare. With ruthless pragmatism, Thiriya put it aside for later. “Dispel isn’t the same as exorcise though. I think I can get rid of the ghost completely.” 

Thiriya hunched down at the writing desk and began to draft a mock discharge paper. It was nowhere near the real thing, and her writing was slapdash at best, but it only had to be good enough. The ghost was loud in the background, but it didn’t seem intent on harming them or damaging anything. Luckily, Thiriya had practice in blocking out annoyances. 

What she couldn’t block out, however, were the window shutters slamming open and the air becoming so cold her teeth began to chatter and her fingers ached. 

She looked up to find a dark shadow curled up in the corner of the room. It started the size of a cat and quickly grew to encompass the whole corner.

If the ghost had been unsettling then this thing was downright terrifying. It had no real form or face, but she couldn’t help but think that it was staring at the ghost. Hungering. And its presence was like a pressure on her chest. She was breathing but it didn’t feel like enough. 

“What is that?” 

“A paet,” Saleh said grimly. “It’s a ghost. Former ghost, twisted by greed and hunger, and it survives by consuming its own kind. The stronger ones can have a physical form if it wants.”

The paet was indeed stronger, and it very much wanted. A part of the shadow stretched to become something resembling an arm and came down on the bed with a loud crash. The bed and the floor underneath crumbled. 

At least the ghost had stopped ranting, Thiriya thought with a high-pitched giggle that was more panic than anything else. The ghost stared at the paet with its mouth wide open, frozen in place. The only movement was from the wisp of hairs on its chins trembling from the shaking of its body. 

Thiriya understood the impulse to remain in place. The paet was captivating, for lack of a better word. The way a tiger or a python was captivating before they tore you apart, swallowed you whole. It looked impossibly large, its form taking up an entire wall and that awful pressure was still there, pressing down, down, down on her. She was nothing. She was an ant trapped in a drowning hill and all she could do was sit there, waiting to be devoured, waiting--

A sharp sting on her cheek. Thiriya blinked, and touched the spot of pain. Her fingers came away wet. 

In front of her stood Saleh with her sword, the tip of which gleamed dark. She grimaced when she realised Thiriya was awake. “Sorry, only way to break you free,” she said. 

That was when Thiriya realised the wetness on her fingers was blood, as was the dark gleam on Saleh’s sword. 

“You cut me.” 

“As I said, it was the only way. We need to get rid of the ghost to get rid of the paet.”

“Your magic sword--”

“Nope. Paets need more, a whole lot more. And dispelling the ghost won’t do it either cos its got the scent now. The spiritual scen--you know what I mean. So, looks like your idea is the only one left. You sure it’ll work?”

Thiriya’s idea sounded very stupid now that it was potentially life or death. Her life and death to be more precise. She tried to sound confident as she said, “Mostly sure.” 

Saleh’s face said the confidence hadn’t communicated itself. “I’ll keep it the paet at bay then and, also, I’ll get ready to run.”

The only good thing about the situation was that the writing desk was all the way across the room from the paet. Thiriya took the half written discharge paper from the desk, and sat down behind it to finish. The bulk of the desk would probably do nothing against the paet, but it made her feel safe and she needed that. 

Writing the rest of the discharge didn’t take long; the real sticking point was the seal. Specifically the seal of a magistrate. They did not have a magistrate here obviously but Thiriya didn’t think she needed to be that authentic. All she needed was for the ghost to believe it. 

Her bag was half under the crushed bed because she had thought it would be safe there. Praying to whatever nat, spirits and benevolent ghosts might be around that what she needed was safe, Thiriya scuttled on hands and knees to her bag. A hard tug pulled it free but also spilled its content across the floor. That was fine, it saved Thiriya the effort of tipping everything out anyway. 

In the shadow of the bed, it was hard to make out what was what, but a few moment’s scramble later, Thiriya’s hand landed on a familiar block of wood. Her breath coming fast, mouth washed in the iron taste of fear, Thiriya unscrewed the wooden jar as fast as she dared. Then she set the opened jar--hands shaking hard, scattering red dust everywhere--on the ground. 

A peek above the bed showed Saleh standing between ghost and paet, holding something in her hand that had the paet shuddering and veering away. 

“Please work, please work, please work,” Thiriya whispered over and over again, interrupted by her licking the top of the jar lid. It was hard to make out the etched pattern under her tongue but she was familiar with the image it would make; a stylised chintha encircled by peacock feathers. Then she pressed the patterned lid into the powdered ink and then onto the discharge papers. 

She held it up to inspect it. Sloppy but recognisable, she decided. 

Now, all she had to do was convince the ghost. 

Going close to the paet was very much the opposite of what Thiriya wanted to do, but that was where the ghost stood. Every step she took felt like she was wading through molasses and she wondered that Saleh could move so easily. 

Thiriya could see Saleh better now, and she was holding out a talisman with one hand while her sword hand struck at the shadowy appendages that grabbed at the ghost. Each time the sword struck the shadow, the paet shuddered in a silent scream that Thiriya felt deep in her chest. The edge of the sword dripped blackness, thick and tarry, that disappeared when it touched ground. 

“Uncle!” she yelled when she was right behind the ghost. Compared to the paet, the ghost was significantly less scary than she had first thought. 

The ghost startled and looked over its shoulder. Thiriya didn’t know how much it understood her--previous evidence would suggest it had little comprehension of its reality, but perhaps the paet’s presence triggered something. Because the ghost focussed on her in a way it hadn’t earlier. 

Thiriya held up the paper with its smeared seal. “Uncle, I relieve you of your services to the crown. You have worked hard for us, and we thank you. This is a paper of discharge detailing your rewards.”

The ghost squinted and peered closely at the seal on the bottom. It looked up at Thiriya, frowning in confusion. There was relief there too, Thiriya thought. 

She gentled her voice when she said, “It’s okay, Uncle. You can rest now.”

The relief swept the confusion away, and the ghost nodded. “Ah, I’ve been ready for so long,” it sighed.

Then, it was gone. 

And a breath later, so was the paet.

All that was left was the loud heartbeat in Thiriya’s ears and breathing that no longer felt laboured. 

She looked at Saleh who was looking back. 

Saleh stood tall with her shoulders unfolded into military rigidity. Her usually smiling mouth was flat, the corners tight with tension. The searingly loud colours of Saleh’s clothes no longer seemed ridiculous. Instead, they reminded Saleh of a white python, announcing its danger with its brightness while begging onlookers to touch and taste. 

And a part of Thiriya though,  _ yes, please _ . 

* * *

U Win Thu was pleased by the fact the ghost was gone, less pleased about the destroyed guest suite. He paid Saleh exactly what was negotiated, not a pya more, and sent them on their way with an icy glare. 

It was midmorning by then, the sun high and the air heavy with humidity. Emerging from the front gate felt momentous in a way Thiriya couldn’t explain. She felt...new. And at the same time she felt closer to the person she had been before. It was as if the weeks and months before were a hazy dream. 

_ Purpose _ , her mother’s voice whispered. 

The word echoed in her head. “Huh,” Thiriya said to herself, smiling. Yes, it did feel good to have had a purpose, if only for a night. 

She turned to share this thought with Saleh and found only empty air. Briefly, she thought that perhaps Saleh had been the result of a fevered mind, but no. The cut on her cheek ached, it had been real enough. Which only left the conclusion that Saleh was gone, now that she no longer needed to pretend they were anything but strangers. 

It was ridiculous, the amount of disappointment that settled within Thiriya. What had she expected really? What was so significant to Thiriya was probably nothing more than a lark to Saleh. Thiriya, in the end, was only a silly girl with silly dreams, thinking she could be more than an ornament piece for her family to flaunt. 

“Are you going to blank out like this all the time? There isn’t even a paet here to blame.” 

Thiriya turned again and there was Saleh as if she had never been gone. She was her loose-limbed smiling self again, the fighter and the servant aspects of her tucked away now that they were no longer needed. 

“Hold out your hand. Both of them.” 

“What?” Even as Thiriya said this, she was obeying. 

Something smooth and cool landed in her outstretched hands, and Thiriya looked down to find a perfect, golden mango, twice as large as the ones she had been trying to pick. 

“On my way north, I passed through the capital, Wizaya. Only briefly, but I managed to hear some gossip.” Saleh’s tone was conversational but the mention of the capital told Thiriya all she needed to know. She fixed her eyes on the mango and bit her tongue. 

“Did you know, the chief magistrate’s daughter ran away months ago? Some say for love, some say to avoid an arranged marriage, some say to join a monastery. Caused an absolute scandal. I hear the chief magistrate has posted a very large sum of reward for news of her daughter.”

Thiriya’s mouth was dry. “Are you going to tell?” 

“Tell who what?” Saleh said cheerfully. “Like I said, just a piece of gossip I picked up. Actually I was going to ask how you felt about a partnership. I hear there’s some trouble with a taung saung nat to the west, good money.”

Thiriya’s head snapped up. She must have looked as confused as that ghost, because Saleh laughed. “A ghost dispelling sword and magic diagrams are all very well and good but it’d be nice to have a partner who can be the brains of the operation. Leaves me to do what I do best, fisticuffs with spirits.” 

“Yes,” Thiriya said immediately. 

If she had thought Saleh’s smile was brilliant before, it was nothing compared to what it became. Saleh hooked her arm around Thiriya’s elbow and leaned in, a long line of warmth that was more than physical. “Then eat your mango and we’ll be on our way.” 

It was the sweetest thing Thiriya had ever tasted. 

  
  



End file.
